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New York, I love you.

I moved to New York City 13 years ago. It was the first place I’d ever lived away from home and it was the only place I’d ever planned on living since I was 14 years old. With all our stuff piled into a U-Haul, my dear friend Terrell and I drove up the East Coast to Baltimore, where we stayed with our other dearest, Megan, and then headed up to The City. The truck was 9’11” high, besides the obvious correlation to a very important date, the reason I remember that is because I almost drove it into an 8’6” high (low…) bridge while navigating the streets of Harlem trying to figure out where to return it. Back at 136th street, after dragging my absurd amount of furniture up 5 flights of stairs (the elevator was broken in our building), we officially lived in New York City. It was October 1st, I turned 23 three days later and I was sure my life had started and that I would be famous in no time.

A few weeks into living there, the Northeast experienced its first cold spell of 2006 and I will…

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